


Tying Loose Ends

by lilacSkye



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Bonding, Emotional Constipation, Established Relationship, Family Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Sparring, Suggestive Themes, Survivor Guilt, Teacher-Student Relationship, That applies for Milo and Camus alone, mentions of depression and ptsd, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 06:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacSkye/pseuds/lilacSkye
Summary: Nobody had told them coming back to life after the fight against Hades could be so challenging.Alternate title: Hyoga has unresolved issues that can finally be resolved, Camus can't put his feelings in words to save his life and Milo is a blessing in disguise





	Tying Loose Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I just wanted to write some short fluffy and funny CaMilo to fight off writer's block and start off 2019 nicely but then Hyoga and feels decided to butt in and turn this into something completely different lmao I hope it's not too bad, though it's probably ooc as heck.
> 
> Set after the Hades arc.

Awkward.

That was the first thing Hyoga thought when he'd been informed of the return of the Gold Saints - Athena's courtesy. She apparently put her foot down with the other gods and managed to get a full acquittal for them all from the divine punishment the Olympic gods had in store for them. She categorically refused to share how the hell she accomplished such a thing when asked by her stunned saints, and Hyoga was not stupid enough to insist.

Of course, he was joyous, and had enthusiastically joined with the others in the obligatory celebration Saori threw for the Golds's return.

Still, as happy as he was, he couldn't help to notice how awkward it was to stand in such close proximity to his master, now fully back to life after Hyoga himself had been the one who kill him in the first place. It was with a certain amount of embarrassment he remembered the last words he had uttered to his fallen master as he too lingered on the threshold of death, mere moments away from being completely wrapped in its frozen embrace, a last request, childish as he was and as Camus always hated, to visit the frozen Siberian tundra again together, one day.

He pointedly avoided getting anywhere close to the Sanctuary for days since then, with the excuse to give the newly awakened Saints the time and space to fully recover and get used to their new life, a courtesy none of his fellow Bronze Saints had the grace to hold, with Seiya always bothering Aioros and Aioria and anyone he could reach as Shiryu was glued to Dohko's hip and occasionally visiting Mu or Shura; even Shun was often seen at Sanctuary, vehemently contended between Shaka and Aphrodite. The only one who was nowhere to be seen, to exactly nobody's surprise, was Ikki.

That being said, Saga was often spotted wandering off into the distance, and whenever he came back for the night he often carried the unmistakable signs of a battle, with bruises and burns painting the fair skin blue and black where the Cloth didn't offer protection. That was all they knew of Ikki, and would suffice.

In any way, Hyoga's evasiveness was brutally cut short by a smirking Milo who suddenly appeared in front of him while Hyoga was in the middle of his usual morning jogging session and with a truly frightening speed whisked him away - kidnapped, as Hyoga would rather call it - all the way up to the Eleventh Temple, only to unceremoniously dump him in a graceless heap of limbs and cheap tracksuit and earbuds at the feet of a rather amused Aquarius Saint.

Which led to now, he thought bitterly as he narrowly dodged another Diamond Dust aimed right at his face. The ice shards grazed the side of his face, drawing a thin trail of blood as they flew past and speared through a nearby pillar, reducing it to a pile of rubble and debris. Athena was soon going to need a whole nother training ground.

“Don't let your guard down!”

The second, lightning fast Diamond Dust hit him squarely in the chest and slammed him into the wall. The freezing blast bit through the flimsy fabric of his jersey like it wasn't even there, assaulting his nerves and freezing his blood solid on the spot. He had forgotten how hard Camus could hit with a single Diamond Dust, or that close as Hyoga could have gotten to the Absolute Zero he was not immune to it. His teeth clattered as his body spasmed, slowly getting used to temperatures he hadn't faced in quite some time. He slowly got to his feet, just as he heard steps approaching.

“That’s enough for now,” Camus said flatly when Hyoga's fist clenched on the newly formed ice crystal in his palm. “We've been at it for quite some time. A little rest is in order.”

Hyoga blinked, confused. The Camus who had trained him long ago would have never stopped for something so trivial as rest; in the past, he would have kept pressing Hyoga, driving him into a corner, pushing him past his limits until he either surrendered and thus died, or broke through. He eyed the older saint with barely concealed wariness, but as Camus turned his back on him and leaned against the pillar Hyoga had just shattered, his posture relaxed and unthreatening for the first time in forever, Hyoga loosened up as well, the cold energy thrumming in his palm suddenly melting away as he all but slumped against the ancient stone with a deep sigh.

And then silence fell, crawling and prickling at Hyoga's skin like invisible bugs. All semblance of relaxation and friendliness quickly dissipated as yet again the circumstances of their last encounter floated up to the forefront of his mind, as though they hadn't had enough of haunting his dreams and nights as they had been doing since that terrible fight at Sanctuary had drawn to a close.

Hyoga slowly slid down and sat, his legs crisscrossed, at the foot of the pillar. He just didn't get why would Camus request they train together like this, if not to find something to reproach yet again. Or maybe he just enjoyed triggering Hyoga's PTSD and sense of guilt? As much as he knew his master could be quite a harsh and frigid man with little understanding of how a normal human being's emotions actually worked, even Hyoga had difficulty picturing Camus actively enjoying making him suffer.

As slowly and subtly as he could, Hyoga stole up a glance at his master, and found the man staring back at him intensely, his expression unreadable. He did not flinch or pull away when Hyoga caught him, he simply kept staring, to the point Hyoga was forced to break eye contact and look down at his lap in defeat.

The young Cygnus Saint had resigned himself to spend the rest of the day switching constantly between training and sitting in uncomfortable silence when, unexpectedly, Camus spoke again.

“Your skills have vastly improved since the last time I saw you. You are getting closer and closer to fully mastering the Absolute Zero.”

Hyoga jerked as though he'd just been burned at that veiled praise. To him, unlike his master, the pursuit of the Absolute Zero was hardly more than a mean to an end, a necessity, a weapon he needed to fully conquer to make sure Athena's justice prevailed against the forces of evil. He held barely any self satisfaction in this accomplishment, and the battle at the Eleventh House had only made it worse. A cursed power that could only be inherited through constant suffering and numbing of any human emotions… Hyoga had soon found out he didn't want to live with that burden, and when it was imposed on him from above, when it turned out to be a necessary sacrifice for the greater good, he had vowed to never force anyone else to carry it on their shoulders.

He heard Camus shift, caught the movement in the peripheral of his vision.

“The power of your techniques is great,” Camus went on, blissfully unaware of the bitter taste of bile and self disgust that was filling Hyoga's mouth, “And the execution flawless. However, complacency and arrogance are a strong warrior's worst enemy, and will make you fall if you ever indulge in them. You most certainly can pour a significant power in your blows, but it is unconstant, and your speed can use some work as well.”

Hyoga kept his gaze low and nodded gravely. Unseen to him, Camus's brow twitched and furrowed in the slightest hint of displeasure. This 'reconnecting through training’, as Milo had called it, was not going as he had envisioned.

Ironically, he wasn't impressed with this cold, withdrawn Hyoga Camus had tried so hard - and failed, only to be shown the error of his ways - to create during Hyoga's training in Siberia.

Perhaps this was a mistake. Camus was definitely not a people person - again, Milo's words - and had perhaps spent too much time alone in his quest to master the icy currents to know how to truly relate and speak to another human being. Ending up dead probably didn't help the cause in the least.

A flash of cosmo disrupted his increasingly frustrated thoughts, familiarly hot and playfully mischievous. Before he knew it, it had disappeared. He cast a glance down at Hyoga, who was sitting up straight, alert and attentive once more, and allowed an amused smile to curl up the corner of his lips. It had probably been too fast for Hyoga to discern its owner, or their location. Despite the many impressive feats he and his fellow Bronze Saints had accomplished in the name of Athena in the relatively short period of time since they had received their Cloth, Hyoga was still a teenage boy, whose incredible precocious senses had yet to be polished to perfection by time and experience.

“Was that-?” Hyoga began, springing up to his feet, his body tense in anticipation. Camus could definitely appreciate and praise the swiftness of such a change of attitude.

“Mere power does not make a true Saint, Hyoga,” he continued his short lecture as though there had been no interruption in the first place. “Strength alone can only carry you so far. A Saint should never bring their guard down, and should instead continuously hone their intuition and rationale, as to be better equipped to achieve victory.”

Hyoga caught the slightest shift of Camus's posture, the shallow, quick shift of his icy eyes to a spot to the left, reaching for something Hyoga could not see nor perceive, and on instinct he moved in the opposite direction.

A split second later a scarlet lightning tore through the air, leaving a wide crater into the stone tiled floor, right in the spot Hyoga was standing on a moment ago. Camus too had leapt away out of danger, and was now looking at the newly made hole with mild interest.

“Well, I'll be damned, I missed.”

Hyoga nearly jumped out of his skin as Milo once again appeared out of thin air and jumped down the pillar he was standing on, effortlessly landing in front of Hyoga. A far too wide and smug grin split his face in two as he straightened up, making a show of dusting away the rubble - which he himself had raised - from his clothes. The scarlet stinger of the Gold Scorpion was still sitting at the tip of his finger.

“Milo, to what do we owe this graceless interruption of yours?” Camus asked, gaining the attention of both Cygnus and Scorpio saints. Milo, irreverent as ever, shrugged and shove his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Well, I wanted to check on you since, you know, you're both what we normally call ‘emotionally constipated'-”

“What? I'm not!” Hyoga protested vehemently. Camus did not bother objecting - there was little to object to the sheer truth, both Hyoga and Milo knew - but nonetheless shot Milo a dirty look which would have frozen to death any lesser man. Milo simply waved a hand lightly.

“And then I happen to find this gloomy atmosphere instead of the fierce clash I was hoping for. I couldn't let it stand, I had to do something.”

“How _noble_ of you.” Camus uttered through clenched teeth. Milo's grin merely grew, and even Hyoga couldn't quite repress a chuckle, which was quickly turned into a rather unconvincing coughing fit, though neither Milo nor Camus called him out on that.

“So,” Milo kept saying as he quickly shrugged off his jacket, revealing a scarlet sleeveless shirt beneath, and tied his unruly mane of hair in a messy ponytail. “How about a good old spar, Hyoga? Hand-to-hand, no cosmo-based attacks. As far as I've seen, you have nice reflexes and your footwork is good, but your technique needs some polishing.”

That sounded like an invitation to be destroyed to Hyoga's ears, but although Milo was one of the most easy going and laid back Gold Saints in Sanctuary - at least, one of the most normal and human inhabitants of this madhouse called Sanctuary - Hyoga was not sure he could turn it down. On top of that, Camus was now regarding Hyoga with renewed interest, and Hyoga already knew he was doomed. At least he hoped he could learn some tricks for what it was worth.

“Yeah, sure.”

Milo beamed, genuinely happy - he was too bright, even without his Gold Cloth to cast a golden aura all around him - and immediately took up his favorite fighting stance, body taut and poised, ready to strike.

“Come on, Odette, show me what you got.”

It was instantly clear to Camus Milo had the right idea: Hyoga's movements were fast and precise, but his close combat skills, though good for average standards - especially a newly appointed Bronze Saint - were nothing compared to Milo's, who stood out even among the twelve Gold Saints for his exceptional agility and close ranged fighting prowess. It was all Hyoga could do to deflect and parry and dodge Milo's blows as Milo unleashed on him a full blown assault of straights and hooks and a wide variety of kicks.

He watched Hyoga take a kick in his gut and be sent flying, the force of the blow enough to embed the Cygnus Saint into the wall bordering the training grounds, and then again and again with each attempt. Still, with every single time Hyoga was thrown to the ground and then rose back up to his feet Camus could feel Hyoga's cosmo burn brighter, more intensely, ignited by the challenge; with each and every blow his approach improved, his stance was corrected, and a sudden surge of scalding pride filled his chest to the brim at the marvelous sight of Hyoga spreading his wings and truly learning to fly.

And he could easily tell Milo had caught on the slight, but constant improvement as well, his beaming smile growing wider with every hit Hyoga successfully blocked or retaliated.

Then, after the umpteenth time he slammed Hyoga to the ground and pinned him down, Milo finally retreated, his smile never faltering.

“Well, it wasn't too bad, you're better than I thought.” He laughed, the slightest hint of effort in his voice as he used the collar of his shirt to wipe the sweat beading up his brow. “Whatcha say, Camus?”

Camus waited until Hyoga had pulled himself up to a sitting position, not without a few flinches and hisses of pain, before replying. “Yes, there's certainly room for improvement, but it wasn't half-bad.”

Hyoga rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, you can say I suck. It's not like I'm going to take offense or anything.”

“Nah, you're fine. As though he could fare any better than you did against me.”

The air seemingly froze out of nowhere at that comment, the temperature - previously a perfectly normal mediterranean, pleasant seventeen Celsius degrees - dropping to polar levels in such a short time even Hyoga shivered. The ground he was sat on was suddenly covered in frost.

“Oh? That is most certainly a rather bold statement to make.” The Aquarius Saint drawled coldly, icy outrage dripping from every syllable like droplets cascading down from the tip of an icicle. “Especially with no proof to sustain your claim.”

Milo smirked, not fazed at all. If anything, he looked more confident as ever as he obviously enjoyed, perhaps even savored, taunting and needling Camus.

Hyoga really had no idea of how much Milo thrived on teasing and pushing Camus, on the knowledge of being one of the two people who ever walked on this Earth to ever been able to draw out a semblance of an emotion from the notorious cold Aquarius Saint. Obviously, he was not going to share that particular piece of information with Hyoga, mainly because it really was not appropriate and, lastly but not least, because Hyoga was the only other individual holding such a strong influence over Camus. He wasn't feeling up to enlightening Hyoga on the matter.

“Oh I'm gonna show proof if you want it so much.”

Camus threw him a withering look, but his outer fury only lasted a second; in the blink of an eye, he was back to his carefully controlled cold facade, though Hyoga could see a dangerous glint flash through those eyes of ice, sharp as diamond and just as cold.

“Watch and learn, Hyoga. You wouldn't want to pass up this opportunity Milo here has so kindly provided, by volunteering himself as guinea pig to show what happens to whoever grows too self-assured.”

In response to that blatant provocation, Milo whistled.

“The truth hurts, doesn't it?”

A flash, and in an instant the two Gold Saints were locked in battle, a flurry of blows so fast Hyoga had trouble keeping up and tell who just hit who. Milo and Camus were hardly more than blurs of purple and blue and red as they danced around each other with fierce, and yet familiar movement, a hectic waltz to a beat only the two of them could hear.

Blow after blow, parry after parry, the air rippled with immeasurable power as they moved, a sequence of movements and routines ingrained into their brain for the longest time, dating back to a time that predated their rise as Gold Saints. A dance only the two of them were privy of, and the twin smiles - challenging, and yet so fond as they regarded each other - playing on their lips were crystal clear proof of that.

It was certainly something else, Hyoga thought, something deeper, more intense than a mere fight, even for Gold Saints standards. He doubted he'd see the same intensity if it was Milo and Aldebaran, or Camus and Mu, although the power level was the same.

No, there was something darker, primal even, in this particular clash which, forget training, had reached the level of instant lethality for anybody who was less than a Gold Saint. Something intimate in those playful grins and taunts - had Hyoga ever seen Camus look so at ease before? Now that Milo had him fully engaged, Camus's movements had grown more natural, more relaxed, like Hyoga had never known he could be - that had Hyoga avert his eyes in shame, his face burning for some reason. He had a feeling it could be compared to walking into his parents, which was much more than he had ever wanted to know about his master and Milo. Whatever there was in-between the two of them, it was their business and theirs alone.

Quietly and keeping his cosmo firmly down, he quickly made his grand escape, knowing for a fact the two fighters were so enthralled with each other they had no eyes for anything else.

* * *

“Well, could have been worse.” Milo said as they reached the Eighth Temple. At long last, those stairs were really the spawn of evil, especially after a prolonged, gruesome sparring session like the one he and Camus had just went through. At least Milo had arrived, Camus had yet three full flights to go before being able to call it for a night. Judging from the way Camus scrunched his eyebrows, he too had done the math, and did not like the result.

“I suppose so. Although not getting too involved with each other, thus failing to realize Hyoga's absence hours later, would have been preferable.”

“Yeah, well, you can't have everything in life.” Milo said with a shrug, already aiming straight for the bathroom. If there was ever a time he was in desperate need for a shower, it definitely was now. “At least we know he can be sneaky. Stealth is important. Saved me more times I can count.”

“Said the one who thought charging head on a castle full of enemies while alone and injured was a good idea. The very epitome of subtleness, Milo.”

Milo huffed as he reached the ensuite and started peeling off his clothes, not giving a damn about where they landed on the floor. Camus followed soon after, curling his nose in disapproval at the mess Milo was leaving in his trail. Dying a grand total of four times did nothing to lessen his being an uptight clean freak.

“May I remind you that was under very peculiar circumstances. A very dear and very dumb friend of mine urgently needed someone to punch some sense into him as soon as possible,” Milo countered nonchalantly, smirking in victory when Camus flinched and averted his eyes. He finished divesting himself - he kindly pretended not to notice Camus stealing an appreciative glance at him from the corner of his eyes - and finally entered the shower, yelping slightly when the cold spray of water hit his naked skin. He hissed a curse and spent several seconds fumbling with the knob to get the perfect temperature going, all nice and warm as he liked it. Unlike a certain someone, who wouldn't be satisfied until the shower started pouring down ice cubes and snow.

He blinked, stopping dead in his tracks, and finally realized what was missing.

He peeked his head out of the shower.

“Well, aren't you coming in?”

Camus flinched visibly, obviously startled out of his thoughts, and fixed Milo with a face of pure puzzlement and - though Milo would not bet on this one - incredulity, as though the thought had never even crossed his mind.

Camus fully took in the sight of Milo, bright and warm, his hair wet and plastered over his eyes, streaming down in dark rivulets along his sculpted neck and broad shoulders, tantalizing and mouthwatering.

There was a time he and Milo had regularly joined into the shower, shared their spaces with the naturality and ease which can only come with years spent together, learning each other's innermost, body language to the point it was hard to determine where one ended and the other began. Two bodies for one entity, two sides of the same coin, opposite and yet the same at their core.

However, it was undeniable things had changed between them, since Camus's death. Too many betrayals in the name of greater justice, too many times he had to sacrifice his partner - lover, he still surprised himself thinking - to be able to pick up from where they had left off. He doubted a whole another lifetime would ever be enough to properly apologize to Milo for all the suffering Camus had, more or less willingly caused him.

And yet Milo grinned, knowing exactly the turmoil of guilt and shame and uncertainty lying behind the cold mask, and just like that, in a simple gesture, dispelling it.

“You're overthinking again.” Milo chuckled, and then nudged his head towards the shower in invitation. “Come on, popsicle, the water is starting to run cold. I would be grateful if you hurried up and got in _before_ it gets to freezing point.”

With a last glance - and a playful wink - Milo retreated inside to savor the last remnants of warmth the water had to offer. And indeed, a few moments later, the curtain shifted again, and Camus stepped in.

“Too hot.” He grumbled as he tested the spray with a trembling hand. “I can't fathom how can you survive this sauna.”

“Now you're just being overdramatic. It's a perfectly healthy temperature for anyone who doesn't care to be turned into a piece of frozen codfish.”

Camus made a noncommittal sound. The water's temperature was quickly dropping to more suitable levels, much to his contentment and Milo's growing discomfort. Like a true scorpion, Milo had never been too keen on the cold. It was something he had never hidden: on the contrary, he never wasted a chance to complain about Camus's cold hands, or the downright polar weather constantly haunting the Aquarius temple. An obvious exaggeration, as Camus personally made sure the temperature never went a degree lower than -15°C, a perfectly acceptable average.

And yet, with many complaints and bemoans, he had always made the effort to drop by Siberia for a few days a time.

“Camus?” He heard Milo call for him. He sounded mildly concerned. “You alright? You're being awfully quiet, even for your standards.”

Their eyes met, and before he knew it Camus's body was moving on impulse, those same white-hot urges he had struggled his whole life to seal away now finally broke free, taking control of him and causing him to pull Milo close, press him flush against himself - they were both naked, but there was no point in being embarrassed for that - and finally, finally kissed him.

Milo stiffened for a split second that lasted an eternity. Then he smiled and melted in the kiss, eagerly letting Camus's in and wrapping him in an embrace Camus never wanted to leave again.

They moved together, tongues and lips chasing and teasing each other with the same ferocity they had traded blows a few hours earlier, and only stopped when they both felt the need for air grow rather urgent, their faces tinged red with lack of oxygen and more primal urges when they finally parted.

“Well, that was a thing.” Milo commented, blissfully breathless. “Can I know what prompted this unexpected - but much appreciated - act? Just so I can do it again, you know.”

Camus half-heartedly glared at him (which did Milo's growing _excitement_ no favors at all because damn, Camus sure could be smoking hot when he wanted to) and then heaved a defeated sigh, pulling his soaked fringe out of his eyes.

“I just… wanted to thank you for your assistance today. I suppose I'll need to keep working on this communication issue you ever so kindly pointed out.”

Milo grinned. It had taken a lot of convincing to get Camus aboard into his reconnection with Hyoga, and he was already considering that a small victory in and out of itself. He could get Camus to break out of his shell, thaw a little, even if only to Milo and Hyoga, the closest people he could perhaps call family, little by little, step by step.

It did not matter if he couldn't quite get there immediately, Milo would always be there to nudge him forward, and break the ice when it was needed.

He pressed his lips against Camus's once again in a warm, chaste kiss.

They had time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reasing, and let me know your thoughts!! :D


End file.
